The Power of Three
by LucasRobbo
Summary: Nico, Amadi and Katria are three seemingly unrelated people in a world feeling the effects of the golden age of piracy, the discovery of new lands, and wealth beyond imagination. However, as conflicts as old as society itself arise, the three find themselves thrown together to defeat forces that have worked in the shadows for centuries.


**The Power of Three**

_To Live a Lie_

_Kingston, West Indies, 1713_

**Nico**

"The man is a criminal, a killer. The scum of the earth that we fight to repel and eliminate," boomed the low, monotonous voice of André Lopez.

"Finding that man is the task that I have set you. You would do well to remember your place, my son."

Nico frowned at the pristine floor. He had learned from a young age to never show his father any displeasure or disappointment that the missions he was given supplied him with. After all, he was his father, master and mentor, and he was his pupil, one day hopefully being lucky enough to take his place in his father's organisation and play his part in the grand scheme of things.

"Have you any idea where to find this killer... sir?" Nico asked with as much politeness as his spited mind could muster, hastily adding the 'sir,' hoping to avoid any further conflict.

"Of course I do boy, am I not a man with numerous contacts throughout the entire of the Caribbean sea? Am I not one of the few people that can find a person no matter where he or she goes, like a hunter to his prey?" André bellowed at him, his voice filled with anger and offense, as if Nico's question had made him seem weak and hopeless.

"You are, father," he replied coarsely, before realising his error. In a matter of microseconds, André had struck at Nico with his cane and caught him on the side of the head with it.

"How dare you!" he screeched, "When you took that oath, boy, you agreed to forsaking me as your father and becoming my pupil! I am your master now, not your father!" He paused for breath for the first time in what Nico thought was hours. The side of his head stung and the reverberating sound of the metal tip hitting his skull pounded through his ears. His attempt at dispelling the tension had clearly spiralled into failure. André seemed to take a breath and calm slightly, as if coming to the revelation that his reaction was unbecoming of a person of his standing.

"Begone. Leave this house and do not return until your target is dead. You will find him by the docks, now leave before I need to waste any more breath on you." With his speech concluded, André turned to his desk and walked around it, peering from the large windows situated behind it. Nico however, never saw this, for he was gone from his father's office before he head reached the desk, his desperation to escape his father's prison cell of an office thereby becoming very apparent.

**Amadi**

"Stop it now! He's had enough!" Amadi smiled slightly to himself; he'd always thought that the milk-maid had always had a soft spot for him, and now he knew it. Despite his black skin, she had somehow seen through his appearance and realised he was a man of kindness and honour.

_Crack._

The whip hit his back once more, knocking the breath from him. He'd been distracted, and paid for it. If he could keep his attention focused elsewhere, his plan might just work. He closed his eyes and blotted out the maid's protesting cries and the pained glances given by the nearby workers. He focused only on his master's shadow as he saw the whip fly forwards and strike him on the back, anticipating each blow so that it's damage was substantially reduced.

After what seemed like an age, he saw the silhouette lower it's arm and turn. Now was his chance. His eyes snapped up and he surveyed his surroundings – no guards in sight, and no one preventing him from snatching up the sharpened rock he had planted by the foot of the tree in front of him. Ignorant slavers, they didn't know their own grounds well enough to spot this potential weapon. Working quickly, he sawed through the ropes tying his hands together. And then Amadi was out, but not free. He turned and raised the rock as a shiv, ready to strike down his master. His shadow must have been cast too far however, for his assailant turned and, with eyes and mouth wide, reached for his sword, the whip flying forward once more. With a curse, Amadi raised his rock in the way of the whip, minimising the damage to his hand only. Amadi spat as the rock fell from his grip, and clutched his hand, before glaring up at his slaver. All work had now stopped – it was completely unheard of for a slave to rebel in this manner, and Amadi's peers must have recognised this, for even they had dropped their tools and watched on with mixed fear and anticipation. Amadi watched as his attacker began to raise the whip once more, and moved forwards, throwing his whole body at him in a fierce explosion of momentum.

Knocking the slaver down, Amadi ejected himself from the guard and reached for the whip. Just as the wind was returning to the guard's lungs, Amadi managed to wrap the whip around his throat, and cut off his air supply, leaving the man struggling to breathe. Amadi hung on for dear life, and when he felt the body go limp in front of him, he let him drop to the floor, dead. Tired and disbelieving, Amadi rose, unsure of his next move. He raised the whip and called out to his fellow slaves:

"Join me brothers and sisters! We can flee this place and escape the tyranny of these plantations forever!" His words echoed through the silent fields, and one by one, the slaves picked their tools up and began working again, moving with an urgency that suggested something to Amadi. Reinforcements. He whirled and glimpsed a party of a dozen guards stampeding towards him at high speed.

_Suit yourselves_, Amadi thought grimly, taking a last glance over his friends and fellow slaves. Then, like a deer in the eyes of a hunter, he fled into the deep jungle ahead and lost himself, and his pursuers, in the dense shrubbery.

**Katria**

The docks were a place of varying sights and sounds; colours of all the different countries of the world were sources for foreign traders to flog their wares and make coin on the shipments they had got their products from. Imagine if she could make the money one of these large suppliers made – she'd be set for life. A stern face brought her to the ground.

"Katria, your wandering eyes and mind will be the death of both of us. You know Kingston is enemy territory, yet you still distract yourself with fantasies." She often wondered if her mentor could read her mind, it certainly seemed like it at times like this.

"It's alright master, if anyone does dare attack us, I'll deal with them before they can do anything to harm us. My senses are as developed as yours," she said with a sly grin. This outburst earned her a scolding look and a harsh reprimand:

"Your arrogance is unbecoming of an assassin, Katria. There was once one like yourself who named himself the best and brightest among the Order, and he quickly found himself stripped of rank and was left-"  
"-left to become the mentor of the Order in the Holy Lands. Altaïr may have been arrogant, but he still led the Order to become what it is today," Katria gave her mentor a straight face, trying to conceal the pleasure she was getting from contradicting him on the Assassins' history. She was expecting a retort, but the old man merely shook his head and muttered,

"So much yet to learn." Katria frowned, but thought nothing of it. The man was senile, if anything, and his opinion of her wouldn't bring her down. Since her introduction to the Order, she'd outperformed every other initiate and become one of the quickest students ever to achieve the title of Assassin. With her pride filling her chest, she swaggered forwards and left her master behind, eager to explore the nearby stalls. Footsteps all around her really made her feel alive – everyone in Tulum moved so quietly they may as well not move at all. She gave the stall owner her most charming smile and politely asked "How much for the knife?" before pointing to a small, ornamental knife to the left of the stand. A clink of metal, most likely from the dock workers behind her, swallowed his words whole.

"Sorry, what was that?" she asked, reaching around for her pouch. When she received no answer, she looked up to see his face warped into an expression of horror. Before she even turned, she added up what had happened, but far too late, for the smell of blood was beginning to fill her nose.

Footsteps. Metal. Blood. The three words flew through her head as she spun, hidden blade extending as a figure leaped at her. She yelped in surprise and kicked out at him, knocking him backwards. She tutted to herself, forgetting her training, before lunging for him with a perfect strike. Her assailant parried it easily, and sliced at her with his sword, nicking her leg. She spat a curse, before dodging back and assessing the damage. Nothing too serious, but this kind of training – this was something else. She'd dealt with corrupt guardsmen and vile murderers, but this was practiced, surgical. Maybe even professional. This was Templar.

Katria looked him up and down; he was young, not much older than her, if at all. But he wielded his blade with a superior attitude, a righteous attitude. She never understood how these people could believe so strongly in such a tyrannical and benevolent ideal. But her thoughts were cut short as he struck at her once more, her blade meeting his in a clang of sparking metal. Katria sliced at him in two quick attacks but met solid resistance. When fighting opponents as skilled or more skilled than yourself, she heard her master mutter in her head, there is only one option. Go for the unpredictable. With these words as her guide, she threw a kick at his shin, before raising it over his leg and getting him right where it hurts. As she saw her assailant bend in pain, she pushed him back and jumped on his chest, blade poised to strike. Katria looked to her left and saw the lifeless body of her mentor, laid broken on the sea-washed planks beneath them. A sudden anger filling her, Katria reached back, ready to deal the final blow, when her attacker's words left his lips.  
"Do it, criminal." Katria had been called many things, but never criminal by one of her targets, or even one of the guardsmen she had slain. With a curious look on her face, she said to him:

"What do you mean, criminal?" Now it was the attacker's turn to become curious.

"I know who you are, people that slaughter innocents and steal their possessions for your personal gain, people that destroy other lives for no reason but for your own gain."

"I am no criminal, Templar. I am an Assassin, and I fight only for freedom," Katria replied, sensing a change in the atmosphere. With a look of confusion filing her attacker's face, she knew that he had not been told this prior to the encounter, for he would not have reacted in this way.

"Then, what am I fighting for?" said the attacker, more to himself than to her, his face now drained of energy, and his eyes filled with doubt and betrayal. Katria looked up, noticing the surroundings for the first time; guards were pouring down the stairs ahead, coming for her most likely. In an instant, she sliced off her belt buckle that showed the symbol of the Assassin Order, and dropped it on her attacker.

"This will let you find me again, my name is Katria, and I am not who you think I am." With a last look at her mentor, she spun on her heel, raced towards the edge of the pier, and plunged into the waters below.

**Nico**

Nico turned the buckle over in his hands, studying the symbol carefully, as any sturdy knowledge he had held about what he did spun in his head, threatening to be blown into these new winds in which he found himself.

"Everything alright sir?" one of the guards asked. Quickly dropping the buckle and covering it with his boot, Nico nodded once before replying.

"Yes, yes I'm... fine. I just need to... be left alone for a while, before I return to the master," he managed to get out, as the guard nodded and moved on with the rest of his men, searching for the mysterious woman. If she wasn't a killer, then who was she? And, more importantly: Who was he?


End file.
